


at sun down we'll fall (and again at the rise)

by cardinalrisk



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Harem!Au, Hints at past Slavery/Prostitution, M/M, Romance, Smut, historical!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 19:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrisk/pseuds/cardinalrisk
Summary: It looks nice, a pretty contrast against his skin, but Sehun has a feeling Zitao could make anything look good. He could make nothing look good, too.-A brief look at two boys who came from nothing, and found their everything.





	at sun down we'll fall (and again at the rise)

Beauty.

It’s something Junmyeon possessed an endless amount of, evident in the grandness of his home, elaborate in design, in the pretty male draped over his lap, the curve of his eyes. Though he didn’t flaunt, he certainly didn’t hide.

Zitao enjoys basking in it, puts the jewellery Junmyeon gifts them to constant use, the soft-spoken words of how pretty the gold looks against his skin and the softer touches that follow when Zitao asks, lips pressed to the inside of a pale neck, warming. He shifts, back arching and dark hair splaying over the white cotton of Junmyeon’s robes, eyes fluttering open at the fingers playing at his hairline.

Junmyeon’s gaze isn’t on him, but focused on the cerulean blue of the sea that laps at the shore only metres away, a slice of sunlight warm against Zitao’s chest. The gazebo they lounged under was large, raised from the ground and adjoining to the rest of the house, held up by thick white columns and golden sheets carved in intricate designs, a familiar spot for lazy afternoons.

“You have taken quite a liking to Sehun,” Junmyeon murmurs, and the curiosity is barely there but Zitao catches on, blinks away the last tendrils of sleep clinging to his mind.

Zitao laughs, light and airy. “He’s sweet enough, though somewhat clueless.”

“Not all of us have seen as much as you Zitao, you should give the poor boy a chance,” he says, and despite his tone being reprimanding there’s a small smile on his lips. “Give him a taste of what the world can offer.”

“Are you suggesting I play with him?”

“No,” Junmyeon’s fingers skim down, find the curve of Zitao’s jaw and tilt his head back, Zitao following easily when the elder stops just short of his lips, something playing in his dark eyes that makes Zitao’s fingers curl.

“Teach him.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you ever get to see the outer cities when you were young?” Zitao asks, soft while he relaxes back into a bed of sapphire and crimson, perhaps a bit too pleased at the way Sehun’s eyes flitter to the movement of his flaccid cock against his inner thigh.

“I never wandered past the Capital.” Sehun replies, fingers idle, tapping against his leg. “I had never seen the sea before Junmyeon brought me here.”

Silence follows, Sehun’s gaze raising to see Zitao’s eyes closed, smile curled on bowed lips. He should look away, but he can’t, following the pretty curve of eyes rimmed with kohl, high cheekbones painted with a light flush, the gold dangling from his ears. Though his eyes drop lower, linger on the chiselled lines of Zitao’s clavicles and his fingers twitch, wanting to reach, touch-

“Enjoying the view?”

Sehun jerks back, the comforting weight of the thick jewellery resting over his chest shifting and creating a light orchestra of sound. He shrugs, gaze moving to focus on the garden that stretches beyond the archway.

“You’re beautiful,” he says honestly, “it is hard not to stare.”

He hears more than he sees Zitao move, managing to suppress a shiver when he feels the elder's hand settle gently on his thigh. “I like it when you stare.”

Sehun’s eyebrow twitches, eyes dropping all together to watch Zitao’s thumb rub circles into the bend of his knee. “I heard you’ve been all over the world, never staying in one place. So tell me Zitao, what do those across the sea have to offer?”

Zitao falters, a pink tongue darting out to follow the swell of his lower lip. “I can show you.”

“Show me?”

“You want to learn,” Zitao continues, hand creeping up slowly as he leans in. “I can help teach you how to please Junmyeon, if you will let me. Can I teach you?”

Sehun raises his chin, fixes Zitao with a small smile.

Zitao grins.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The bazaar is loud, heat almost stifling from the people that press in around them, but it’s rich with colour, a range of sounds and smells attacking the senses at each bend. The ceilings are high, almost ancient in its design, a relic from the old but just as beautiful as the remainder of the city.

Zitao’s hand is tangled with his own, fingers linked together to avoid losing each other in the rush while he holds a small purse made of red velvet tucked closed to his chest, heavy with silver and gold. They stop at another vendor, stall laden with cheap jewellery and small trinkets made of bent copper, the owner's eyes lighting up at the sight of the gold curled around Sehun’s neck, dyed cotton twisted around the hoop to create a light shield between skin and the damning heat of summer.

“Welcome, welcome!” The man croons, flashing a smile of red gum and mismatched rotting teeth, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “How may I help such fine young men today? Some jewellery for a beautiful young lady mayhap? Best in the city!”

Zitao laughs and falls into an easy banter, tongue twisting around the local dialect Sehun hadn’t quite picked up with ease, studying each piece passed to him. “I am looking for something to match my new robe,” Zitao says earnestly, gesturing to the fabric that hugs his waist and not much else, “can you help me?”

The man pauses in his rambles, taking a step back and making a show of studying Zitao’s form before raising his hand with an enthusiastic “ _just the thing_!”

Sehun watches with a small smile curled on his lips, gaze lingering on where Zitao takes a delicate chain of what seemed to be woven silver and copper between his fingers, lifting it to his neck to the quick spoken praises of the owner. It looks nice, a pretty contrast against his skin, but Sehun has a feeling Zitao could make anything look good. He could make nothing look good, too.

A frown flitters across his features and he shakes the thoughts away.

“We’ll take it,” he interrupts, sliding four silvers across the rough wood, “and an extra for excellent service.”

Zitao glances at him but says nothing, thanking the owner quietly and promising to return as he fixes the chain over his neck, tucking a tuft of ebony strands behind his ear before he’s reaching for Sehun’s hand again to begin pulling him along. They pass another stall, littered in exotic spices that creates an enticing smell that has Sehun pausing, Zitao’s hand yanked from his in the oncoming rush of people.

He isn’t pushed far, only a few metres, standing that little bit taller than the remainder of the crowd and Sehun surges forward, hand catching Zitao’s wrist the same moment another wraps tight around the opposite. He feels the way Zitao stiffens, falls towards him as he attempts to shake his hand free.

Yet the man that holds him is relentless, broad-shouldered and tall as he leers, slides up beside Zitao. “How much for a night beautiful?”

Zitao looks at Sehun, sees the raw fear carved into usually such confident features and swallows thick, tugs gently at the wrist in his hold and steps forward to shield the other behind him as much as he can, raising his chin with a confidence he doesn’t really feel. “Your head if you don’t get your hands off him.”

“Who the fuck are you? A rich boy in love with a whore?” The man laughs. Zitao flinches. “Get out of the way.”

“He is not a whore.” Sehun bites out, tone cold, the malice that lines his words genuine.

Still, the man lingers, eyes flitting between the two before he finally drops his hold, spitting at Sehun’s feet with a line of curse words and shoving past him with an intent to send him stumbling. Sehun manages to hold his ground, watch the man retreat before allowing himself to turn to Zitao.

“Do you-”

“No,” Zitao says, and his voice is quiet, head hanging and Sehun finally catches a glimpse of the tattoo inked into the skin below his ear. “I just want to go home, to Junmyeon. Please.”

Sehun nods, laces his fingers through Zitao’s tight.

“Of course.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s warm, though it’s another form of heat that has Sehun’s cheeks flushed, cheek pillowed against Junmyeon’s abdomen while he licks puffy red lips clean, sighing soft as fingers card through his hair. “Junmyeon?”

The elder hums, lazy and sated. “Mm?”

“Can I ask you about Zitao?”

The movement against his scalp falters briefly, a soft breeze filtering from the balcony that’s soothing against overheated skin. “No,” Junmyeon eventually replies, “not if you are referring to what happened in the bazaar.”

“Why not?” Sehun tries, even though he knows his words are bordering on a whine.

“He will tell you when he is ready, no sooner, and I will not disrespect his wishes.” The elder sighs, fingers resuming the gentle massage. “All of you boys had it hard before I took you in, none more so than another, and Zitao was no different. I saved him, just as I saved you.”

Sehun allows the words to process, to keep the questions on the tip of his tongue quiet and instead nods, traces a finger over Junmyeon’s thigh idly.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Sehun doesn’t need to look to know Junmyeon is smiling. “Zitao is gentle, sweet, but it is not what he always wants. He has a… particular taste, I suppose. Something you could provide, if you allow yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Sehun rasps, stretching out as he moves to rest beside Junmyeon.

“Oh, sweet boy,” Junmyeon laughs, leans in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Sehun’s mouth. “Just think about it, you will understand, eventually.”

“And until then?”

“Until then you can keep learning. Prove to Zitao just how much you care.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Zitao is already waiting for him when Sehun makes his way through the garden, resting on a soft bed of light cream in one of the courtyards scattered throughout, clad in nothing but skin and gold. Sehun would think he was sleeping if he didn’t know better, able to spot the subtle twitch of lips as he wanders closer.

“What would you like to learn today?” Zitao asks, eyes still closed, body lax. “I had a few things in mind of course, but I thought you may like to choose.”

“Zitao.” Sehun falls to a stop beside the cane daybed, fingers slipping down to work at leather bands until they fall loose, leaving fabric to slip and pool around his feet. Zitao glances up, watches each movement with careful eyes as Sehun curls his fingers. “Come here.”

There’s a certain way Zitao moves that draws eyes, a grace that seems just as natural as it is practiced, that can make the nicest want to simply ruin. Notched auric rests over Zitao’s collarbones, a stark contrast to the necklace Zitao had found in the bazaar only days before, and Sehun thinks, that really, Zitao had been made to wear such extravagance, to bathe in it.

Zitao rests before him on his knees, head cocked to the side, hands resting over his thighs. Sehun smiles, finds his hand reaching to grasp Zitao’s chin between thumb and forefinger, allowing himself to admire the way Zitao leans into the touch, the way his eyelashes brush against the highs of his cheeks. He leans in to catch Zitao’s lips with his own before he can change his mind, teeth grazing light, shiver dancing up his spine when Zitao’s fingers find his hair, curl tight and tug to press him closer.

They fall together in a heap of long limbs and scattered pillows, fingers exploring, pressing in deep, eager and hot, each brush leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Sehun falls in headfirst, testing to see what makes pretty sounds fall from prettier lips, what makes the flame flare and catch, send liquid fire spreading through his veins.

He only pauses when his hands rest over jutting hipbones, thumbs rubbing soft into the flesh, nose dragging along Zitao’s jaw. “Do you want this?”

There’s a pause where Sehun holds his breath, pauses in where his lips press to the inside of Tao’s neck.

“Yes,” Zitao says, breathless and beautiful. “Please.”

It’s all Sehun needs, resuming in his ministrations, teeth latching onto skin and gripping, but never quite breaking, moving down until his tongue swirls around a nipple. Zitao’s grip on his hair still tight, still pulling, chest heaving beneath his lips and Sehun allows himself to embrace the satisfaction of being able to work Zitao down to a mess with nothing more than his mouth.

Zitao guides him through it, attempting to move Sehun faster and give him what he’s so desperately craving, yet Sehun takes his time, works Zitao’s body until red mars the expanse of his stomach, the inside of his thighs. When he finally works the first finger in, slick with oil and cautious, Zitao keens, rides his hips down with expertise until Sehun relents, slips in a second in a slow drag, fitting the pink head of Zitao’s cock past his lips.

He works him open slow, learns the way Zitao’s thighs quiver when he’s close, drawing back when Zitao confirms it in a breathless gasp and waiting for the pleas, the begging rasp that makes Sehun groan and fuck his fingers in with a renewed vigour. Discovers how to curl his fingers just right to make Zitao’s back bow, to hear the unrestrained cry of pleasure that makes the angry aching of his cock, curved and leaking, worth it.

When Sehun finally, finally presses his cock in, Zitao is on his knees, tears in his eyes and arms shaking with exertion as he holds himself up, breath catching in his throat at the way friction catches at the rim before sliding in smooth. Sehun groaning low in his throat because Zitao is so wet, so tight, and in this moment, all his.

He starts slow, rolls his lips like Junmyeon had taught him, after he had allowed Sehun to stumble over the first few sessions until he had understood. Zitao fucks back, presses small, bitten off gasps into cushions of feather down, searches for Sehun’s hand with an incoherent plea until Sehun understands. He leans over, balances himself on his elbow while his fingers fit between the gaps of Zitao’s own, tongue laving over the cut of a sweat-slick shoulder blade.

The tang is salty against his tongue, filthy and so wonderfully perfect as he fucks forward, sets up a steady rhythm that has skin slapping lewd, sending the skin of Zitao’s ass a blossoming red. The pace sends Zitao’s knees sliding open further, arms giving in and leaving him wrecked for Sehun’s taking. It doesn’t take much, a few loose words - _you were always so beautiful Zitao, wanted to fuck this pretty little ass of yours for so fucking long_ \- and deft fingers that sends Zitao spiralling, sobbing through his release and milking Sehun of his own with the relentless, suffocating heat.

They fall together gentler this time, Sehun still buried balls deep when he manhandles the two of them onto their sides, pressing soft, fleeting kisses to Zitao’s neck, the bend of his shoulder, wherever he can reach. There are no words exchanged, no need for them, both content to lay curled around one another for the few minutes they could.

Somewhere along the way they had fallen, the pieces of the picture left scattered between azure and coral coloured sunsets, in the sand between their toes, the heavy scents of spice within winding alleys, in the messy strands of their hair. But they still held enough, kept them tucked close and found others in each other.

Somewhere along the way they may lose them. But for now, they were safe and that was enough, really.


End file.
